


Arson

by orphan_account



Series: the ocean is six miles deep [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Body Worship, Lazy Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Poetry, Relationship Discussions, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They could be sentimental, like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arson

**Author's Note:**

> [banging pots and pans together] character development & boys in love
> 
> this one's for u marissa bc your mix is fire. arson is from a hozier song which just fits tooru's character too well <3

“What are you doing?” Hajime had stated. He lifted his gaze up from the equations and pages before him to look at Tooru. Tooru licked his lips and titled his head, grin a little lopsided. The novel he’d been previously reading lay discarded in front of him on the table.

“I’m watching you work,” Tooru replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Outside, the sun began to set, basking their kitchen in shades of red and orange.

“Why?” he said lowly.

“Because I want to,” said Tooru.

Hajime sighed.

“Yeah, but _why_?” he asked him.

Tooru shrugged.

“You look good, like this; when you work, I mean,” he told him, “You get this tiny little wrinkle right about here,” he said, lifting a hand to touch at some point between Hajime’s eyebrows with a warm finger.

“It’s adorable,” Tooru finished, withdrawing his hand and resting his chin in the palm of it, elbow perched on the table. He grinned at Hajime.

“I’m not adorable,” Hajime grumbled.

“Yeah, you are,” Tooru hummed.

“I’m not,” he retorted weakly.

“You are. You’re the _cutest_.”

“That’s not possible,” Hajime said before he could stop himself, “As long as you’re around, I’m not the cutest.”

Tooru’s mouth shot open. He blushed, furiously, as and whined, as though he were angry at Hajime. Hajime merely hid his smile beneath his palm and returned his attention to the problems in front of him; quantum mechanics.

They were silent, for a while. Tooru smoothed out a page of his novel before setting it down once more.

“Why do you do it?” he asked Hajime.

Hajime dropped his pencil and looked at Tooru.

“Do what?”

“Physics,” Tooru said, “Isn’t it hard?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” replied Hajime, and Tooru nodded. He bit his lip and looked down at his novel. Hajime picked up his pencil once more.

“Then why do you do it?” Tooru asked.

“What?”

“If it’s hard, why do you do it?”

Hajime set his pencil down.

“I don’t know,” he told Tooru, “I just like it. It’s simple.”

Tooru stared at the equations and textbooks before him.

“It looks like anything _but_ simple.” said Tooru.

“Fine,” grumbled Hajime, “I like it—” he inhaled a deep breath, “I like it because it’s complex. It’s a challenge, but there’s always a solution to find. I like that. I like the complexity of it all. Happy?”

Tooru swallowed thickly.

“Yeah,” he said, hoarsely, picking up his novel and staring down at the words numbly.

“Good,” mumbled Hajime.

His pencil scratched at the paper. Tooru turned a page.

They were silent, after that.

 

Hajime had taken Tooru to church, once; to a marble Catholic cathedral in Tokyo. He wasn’t religious or anything like that. They merely stumbled upon it, walked past it one day before Hajime halted and grabbed Tooru’s wrist, pulling him inside.

They sat before the altar on the wooden benches. Tooru swallowed thickly. He stared up at the glass mosaics and tall ceiling; it reminded him that there were people before them, and that there’ll be before after them, too.

Hajime was quiet for a long while. They were alone, too; it was a Wednesday afternoon, after all. Tooru watched Hajime blink up at the altar, his hands pressed tightly against one another.

“This is where my parents got married,” Hajime said.

Hajime turned his head, then, and looked at Tooru. Tooru stared back at him.

“I know we can’t get married here, or anything like that.” Hajime spoke, “I know that. I can’t promise you anything, but _God_ —” he paused, briefly, and inhaled a shaking breath, “I wish— I wish that I could.”

Tooru’s breath hitched. Hajime looked so damn hopeful, in that moment and it hurt Tooru to look at him. He was brutally honest. Suddenly, Tooru’s entire body felt too small for him to inhabit his pounding heart.

“I know,” he replied. He nudged Hajime’s hand open with his fingers, and trailed them along Hajime’s rough and callused skin until their fingers laced together, palms pressed against one another with an indomitable sense of physical closeness; it was nothing, it was everything. It was as though Tooru were telling him _I know—  we’re strong— we’re fine— I’m here— I’ll always be here_ and that was all Hajime needed to know, in that moment.

 

Tooru had left the window open. Hajime could hear the sound of the passing traffic and bustling crowds. There was something about hearing Tokyo roar on outside their flat. Tokyo had a busy, adventurous feel to it at night, and there was this satisfaction of the constant flicker of men and women and machines that the city gave to the restless eye. In the enchanting metropolitan twilight, Hajime had felt a haunting loneliness, sometimes, and he’d felt it in others— in Tooru, too— who wasted their most poignant moments of night and life. Outside, the streetlights created a constant flicker on top of moving cars.

Anything could happen, now that the moon rose high in the sky. People crawled back home or into the depths of the city— like moths drawn to a fire— and even Tooru could happen.

Hajime watched Tooru. He was asleep. Hajime could see the blue veins over his eyelids, his long lashes fluttering over pale skin. Hajime ran a hand over his own bleary eyes and rolled over to wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close against his chest. Warmth radiated off of Tooru’s body and seeped through Hajime’s skin, down to his bones. He smiled down at him as Tooru shifted against him with a faint hum, rolling over on his back.

Hajime followed him, laying his head on his shoulder and tossing his leg over Tooru’s thighs. Tooru adjusted beneath him and wrapped an arm around his neck. Hajime traced along Tooru’s bare ribs. He could not stop himself from kissing along Tooru’s chest.

“You’re awake,” slurred Tooru. His voice was rough, and it sort of threw Hajime off; he hadn’t expected him to be awake.

“Sorry,” Hajime whispered, “Did I wake you?”

Tooru shook his head.

“No,” he said, “It’s fine. What time is it?”

“Late,” murmured Hajime, “Early, really; it’s 4:47.”

Hajime buried his head in the crook of Tooru’s neck. Tooru slid a hand along Hajime’s spine, nails scratching at his skin. Hajime smiled softly at him before shifting, tangling their legs together and rolling his hips upwards to meet Tooru. Tooru hitched his breath and let Hajime kiss slowly up Tooru’s neck; it was sheer victory, the way Tooru bared his neck for him and moaned quietly in appreciation.

Hajime tightened his thigh around Tooru, reaching low and sliding smoothly down his spine, over the swell of his ass, until he slipped his fingers over Tooru’s entrance; he was still wet and stretched from last night. Tooru moaned breathily over Hajime’s ear.

Hajime slid a finger into him, and Tooru arched his back, sighing happily. Hajime pressed soft, gentle kisses against Tooru’s neck, up his jaw, against his ear.

“We’ve got time, then,” whispered Tooru. Hajime laughed breathlessly and thrust his finger in deeper. Goosebumps dusted along Tooru’s skin, and Tooru rocked into it, rolling on his back and pulling Hajime on top of him. Hajime lay easily between his thighs, his body warm all over. Tooru wrapped his legs around his waist, holding him close as Hajime reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers in order to press two fingers into Tooru.

Tooru tilted his head back, slowly drawing in a shaky breath as Hajime drew his tongue languidly over the hollow Tooru’s throat. Tooru sighed a choked moan as Hajime thrust his fingers upwards, pressing open-mouthed kisses up along his neck before adding a third finger.

Tooru gasped, and Hajime bit at his jaw.

“C’mon,” he told Hajime, pulling at the hair on the nape of Hajime’s neck, “Fuck me—”

“Yeah, baby,” Hajime breathed, “You gotta be patient, I need to—”

“You don’t need a condom,” Tooru finished for him, softly, “Not— not tonight.”

Hajime swallowed thickly.

“Okay,” he said hoarsely. Tooru stared up at him. He looked a little unsure, and nervous, and suddenly, Hajime realised that it was all a lot more slow and romantic that he intended it to be.

He pulled his fingers out, slicked up his cock, and pressed into Tooru with a low groan.

Tooru shuddered, gasping a breathless moan as Hajime thrust into him slowly.

“Fuck,” his breath hitched, “You— you feel so _good_ , Hajime,”

Hajime hummed in agreement, rolling his hips upwards before pulling back and pushing in further in a fluid motion. Tooru clung tighter to him and arched his back. His chest was warm against Hajime’s, cock rubbing against his stomach, and as the curve of his spine left the bed sheets beneath them, Hajime slid an arm underneath him and held him closer to him.

“Shit,” Hajime whispered. His other hand rose to trail along his skin until he cupped Tooru’s flushed cheek. He stared up at Tooru, and, for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Tooru’s face was flushed, his eyes were dark— pupils blown— and in the moonlight, he seemed ethereal, pale skin glowing.

“Tooru, I—” he stammered, “You’re gorgeous.”

Tooru’s breath stuttered on a cracked moan of Hajime’s name. It elicited chills that ran across Hajime’s skin. Tooru’s thighs shook and trembled around Hajime’s hips, and he arched harder, then, breathing coming faster until he threw his head back into the pillows and moaned Hajime’s name with a quiet, breathless voice, as though it were a prayer. He gripped Hajime with shaking fingers, dragging his nails along his shoulder.

Hajime clutched his waist tighter, ducking his head to drag his teeth along the smooth skin of Tooru’s neck once more. Tooru’s toes curled. He was whimpering, now, voice raspy as he whispered nonsense words and phrases, telling Hajime how good he felt, and how good Hajime looked and sounded.

Tooru twitched up against him, and Hajime groaned lowly, grinding deep with a smooth thrust.

“Fuck,” Hajime sighed, “I love you— _I love you_ —”

Tooru choked out a moan, fingers twitching as he pulled Hajime towards him, kissing him hard on his open mouth. Tooru leaned towards him, and he moaned softly into it as Hajime pressed his tongue against Tooru’s. His lips were soft and warm, and Hajime’s eyes squeezed shut as his chest heaved. Tooru held Hajime’s face between his hands, and Hajime held him closer, and he moaned raggedly into Hajime’s mouth, fingers scrambling for hold against Hajime’s cheeks and jaw. Hajime groaned, and Tooru was lost, then; he came, hard, body quaking and chest heaving as he clung onto Hajime.

Hajime thrust slowly upwards, moaning into the kiss, and Tooru’s nails scraped at the back of Hajime’s neck. He gasp, grinded deeper, and squeezed his eyes shut, tumbling after Tooru into white-hot bliss, whispering and breathing Tooru’s name into his mouth as though it were a prayer.

They pulled apart, then, and Hajime’s body went limp. Tooru’s hands soothed over his shoulders, and he trailed his lips over Hajime’s ear, across his temple, down his cheek, until Hajime slid his arms out from around Tooru and pulled out, holding him gently as Tooru bit his lip, laughing breathlessly.

“Good morning,” mumbled Tooru. He rolled over onto his stomach, peeking up at Hajime with a lopsided smile. Hajime lay opposite him, on his side, watching Tooru.

The light of the moon entered the room to design fantastical figures on the wall. The curtains moved— a ghost in the night— and transformed the bedroom into a mystic kingdom of light. The moonlight seemed palpable. It spread across the floor and walls as though it were ripples of water, creeping in every corner and crevice and spreading over the smooth skin of Tooru’s back.

Hajime wanted to laugh— though that would have been horrible, truly; Tooru was sort of neurotic and would have thought Hajime’s happiness was remorse and laced with pure evil— and he could have cried, too. Hajime exhaled a contented sigh, and placed the palm of his hands against Tooru’s spine. Tooru’s eyes shot open, and he looked back at Hajime. His eyes were dark— pupils blown— and suddenly, Hajime thought back to their youth— their more vulnerable years— and how Tooru had changed so much, but his eyes were still the same, even after all these years. They were reflective and took everything in.

Hajime breathed a shaky laugh, and he sighed once more. Tooru blinked at him before smiling lazily.

“You’re sighing a lot,” Tooru said, voice hoarse, “Are you regretting this already?”

He’d meant sleeping with him, staying with him, holding him until his veins ran dry. Hajime could tell. Tooru looked uncertain, and painfully nervous.

“Sure,” said Hajime, bending to kiss Tooru’s temple, since he could do things like that, now, “I regret waiting for so long.”

Tooru hid his face in the pillow— he was blushing— and Hajime laughed softly. He trailed his fingers along the bumps of Tooru’s spine, tracing his moles and the faint freckles along his shoulder blades, down to this scar Tooru had. It was just above his left hip, on his lower stomach; a clear-cut line of incision. Tooru never told him how he’d gotten it. Hajime never asked; it left a bad taste in his mouth. He touched the thin, white line with the tip of his finger, and Tooru shuddered.

“Sorry,” said Hajime, raising his hand, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” said Tooru softly, “I— it’s just— you surprised me, that’s all.”

Hajime nodded and touched the white line once more.

“What are you doing?” croaked Tooru.

“I’m— it’s a promise to myself,” he replied.

“A promise to yourself,” echoed Tooru, grin spreading on his lips.

“Yeah,” said Hajime, “Don’t interrupt me.”

He drew a nonsense pattern over the smooth expanse of Tooru’s skin, pressing along the faded scar tissue. Hajime blinked down at it. Tooru would never have another scar again, Hajime vowed. He’d be fine— they’d be fine— since it was all different, now. Tooru was here, right beside him, and he wouldn’t leave or disappear into the darkness. He’d stay.

“What did you promise yourself?” Tooru whispered.

Hajime shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. Tooru sighed wistfully.

Hajime reached over Tooru’s body, then, to grab a stray ballpoint pen from the nightstand. Tooru watched him bit the tip of it— a habit he failed to forget— before Hajime leaned towards him, pressing the tip of the pen into Tooru’s back.

Tooru laughed, chest heaving.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“It’ll wash off,” said Hajime.

“That’s— c’mon, that’s no excuse—” Tooru objected, and he started to try and push Hajime off of him, though Hajime merely pressed him down further into the mattress. He could feel Hajime start to write. His handwriting was stoic and entirely made out of straight lines. Tooru’s was the opposite, all swooping cursive.

“Hajime,” Tooru whined, “I’ve—”

“You can write on me, too,” Hajime sighed. Tooru was silent, then. He contemplated and bit at the inside of his cheek.

“Fine,” he said. He was defeated, and he pushed his face back into the pillow.

“I promise I won’t write anything dirty,” Hajime laughed, and Tooru grumbled weakly.

Hajime bit the pen once more, and continued to write. Tooru’s skin was slicked with sweat, and so, he had to make each letter twice. It was worth it, though; Hajime had written _i love you so much it scares me_ on the small of Tooru’s back, write in the centre. He could feel his pulse flutter in his veins; it was entirely private and vulnerable, precisely the sort of words he still could not convey to Tooru. 

“What did you write?” Tooru muttered.

“You’ll see when you shower,” he replied, and Tooru frowned a little in annoyance.

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No,” Hajime hushed, “It’s too embarrassing.”

Tooru shifted, and sat up.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, taking the pen out of Hajime’s hand— their fingers brushed, briefly, and the contact sent sparks of electricity up Hajime’s veins— and twirled it rhythmically between his fingers.

“Lay down on your back,” he told Hajime. Hajime complied, and Tooru thought for a few moments. He bit at his lower lip. The weak moonlight caused his hair to seem paler, illuminated as though he had a halo, and his eyes were shining. Hajime stared up at him, and he wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt.

Tooru leaned down, then, and spread his fingers over Hajime’s chest, tightening the skin there. He began to write over his ribs, at the side, so that Hajime was unable to read the words.

It was silent. Hajime was completely still, and merely watched Tooru. It took him a long while before he removed the pen from Hajime’s skin.

“Holy shit,” sighed Hajime, sitting up opposite Tooru, “That took way longer than mine.”

Tooru shrugged, staring down at his hands. Hajime swallowed thickly.

“What did you write?” he asked.

Tooru laughed.

“You won’t tell me, but you expect _me_ to tell _you_ ; nice try,” he scoffed, “Read it yourself.”

“It’s upside down,” Hajime said, “And— I— I’d like to hear it from you,”

Tooru’s eyes shot up, then, meeting Hajime’s gaze.

“Oh,” he said weakly, “It’s— I can’t— it’s too embarrassing,” he whined.

“It can’t be as bad as—”

“It’s a poem.”

Hajime blinked at him. Tooru blushed furiously.

“See, I told you—”

“I don’t think that’s embarrassing,” Hajime interrupted, “Read it to me— please,” he whispered. Tooru was silent, for a moment.

“Fine,” he mumbled, “It’s— it’s not the whole thing,”

“That’s fine,” Hajime said, “Just read it.”

Tooru shifted— he was nervous, Hajime could tell— before raising his hand and pressing his fingertips against the writing.

“ _Looking up at the stars, I know quite well that, for all they care, I can go to hell,_ ” started Tooru, voice frail, “ _But on earth indifference is the lease we have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn with a passion for us we could not return?_ ” Tooru inhaled, shakily, before continuing, “ _If equal affection cannot be me, let the more loving one be me._ ”

Hajime understood, then, why Tooru had been nervous. He had opened up a very secret and vulnerable part of his soul— something raw and fragile and painful— and it required all of Hajime’s respect and kindness. He was silent, though, for a long while. Tooru stared at him, eyes wide and terrified.

“That was— that was pretty,” said Hajime hoarsely, “Who’s it by?”

“Auden,” muttered Tooru, “I told it you it was embarrassing.”

Hajime smiled at him; slowly, and then all at once.

“Compared to what you wrote, I just look like an idiot,” Hajime whispered.

“What did you write?”

Hajime swallowed thickly.

“I— it’s,” he stammered, “I— I said that— that I love you so much it scares me, sometimes.” his voice caught.

Tooru exhaled shakily. He could feel his throat constrict, and he felt dizzy. He bit his lip, and grinned; he could have laughed, and he could have cried. He closed his eyes, and reached out towards Hajime.

Their fingers intertwined. They didn’t let go for a long while.

**Author's Note:**

> the full poem can be read here:  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/more-loving-one


End file.
